


Let Me Make it Plain

by NeonPistachio



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22546957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: He’s dubious about trying it. It’s Fiona’s thing to begin with, but James… Jameslikesit.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Robert Lewis, past James Hathaway/Fiona McKendrick
Comments: 8
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from David Bowie’s _Oh You Pretty Things_. 
> 
> This was not the way I intended to dip my toe into this fandom. Oh well.

He’s dubious about trying it. It’s Fiona’s thing to begin with, but James… James _likes_ it.

*

‘You haven’t done this often, have you?’ Fiona asks him contemplatively after their first time together. James doesn’t say anything, but she must interpret his humiliated silence correctly, ‘I don’t mind,’ she tells him, rolling over and pushing herself up to look at him. ‘It leaves us with plenty of new things to try. And I don’t have to train you out of any bad habits.’

Looking back, James wonders if she ever saw him as anything more than an interesting distraction. 

*

‘I love a woman in uniform. Very smart,’ Fiona tells him approvingly, comfortable in her bisexuality. James, uncomfortable in his ambiguous sexuality but comfortable in his gender, grimaces a little at being referred to as a woman. _You don’t have to be female to look pretty, do you?_

The skirt, which would be knee length on Fiona, hits him mid thigh, and it probably looks ridiculous on him. It’s a female police officer’s dress uniform, not designed to look or feel sexy. But James is very aware of the fabric brushing against his thighs, making his skin feel tender and over-sensitive. The shirt is too small to be buttoned, so Fiona gave him a silky tank-top thing to wear under it, and feeling it tight against him…

He’s achingly, shiveringly aroused by the whole thing. 

‘Ma’am,’ he manages, trying to respond coherently to Fiona’s words. She laughs. 

‘Don’t call me that. I’m not CS Innocent.’ She tilts her head, looking at him assessingly. ‘Unless that’s something you’re interested in?’

‘No,’ James states firmly, shuddering a little at the thought. He may have a new appreciation for Innocent’s dress sense, but he’s not interested in her in that way. 

*

Fiona kisses him in the front room. ‘Last time? For fun?’ James nods, wondering what Fiona’s still got in the house. Handcuffs, maybe. They both enjoyed the handcuffs. 

She leads him through to the bedroom, a last few boxes packed but not yet gone. She rummages briefly then turns to him, hands full. ‘I hoped you might come by.’

James stares at the things she’s holding out to him. The straps of the harness shine slightly in the low light; that’s for her. 

The silk of the camisole ripples in the light; against it, the lace of the suspender belt is a matt strip, the stockings folded below. Those are for him.

He doesn’t need to say anything, taking them to the next room to put on. When he returns, Fiona is waiting on the bed, dildo jutting up from the harness. She looks at him appraisingly. ‘Lovely.’ James tries not to shiver at the praise, tries to walk steadily across the floor. Wishes she’d given him knickers too, that he could feel slick silk against his cock instead of too-cool air.

Fiona pats the bed beside her. ‘Ready?’

She has him on his back, knees spread so she can see the whole outfit. James wants to hide his face, turn aside from her eyes as she moves inside him, but she makes him look at her, makes him acknowledge that she can see him. It’s good, so good, he’s so aroused, and he loses track of his thoughts every time she angles the dildo just right. 

‘It’s a pity Inspector Lewis didn’t wait,’ she says, voice somehow still level even as she thrusts roughly into him. ‘I wonder what he’d think of your outfit?’ And James has a split second to imagine that - _Lewis, seeing him dressed like this, watching him as he’s fucked_ \- before he’s coming harder than he ever has before. 

‘It’s a shame I’m leaving early tomorrow,’ she comments casually afterwards. ‘That could have been fun to role-play. The DI and his sergeant,’ and James knows that calculating tone, and suddenly, fiercely, he’s glad she’s leaving. 

He doesn’t want her thinking about Lewis like that. 

*

As a copper, James knows all too well how easily people’s secrets can be betrayed. Ok, a fondness for wearing women’s lingerie in the bedroom is hardly the worst secret he could have, but James can imagine the jokes that would go round the nick if anyone found out. He’d be more of a laughing stock than he already is. 

Lewis wouldn’t know where to look. It would destroy their working relationship, their off-duty friendship. James will do anything to avoid that. 

Anything, apparently, apart from completely give up on the whole thing.

 _It’s not hurting anyone,_ he rationalises. _It’s not even hurting me. I’m allowed to wear what I want, off duty and in the privacy of my own flat._ And if, in the unlikely circumstance that it does become common knowledge, he gets laughed out of Oxfordshire Police, well… He’s not really sure he’s cut out to be a police officer anyway, long term. 

He’s in London to see a band. It’s a weekend off. No one’s going to recognise him, no one’s going to be wondering what he’s up to. If asked, he can always claim it’s for his girlfriend. No one has to know he’s looking more at blokes these days, and that the things are for him. He’ll pay cash. He hasn’t even looked up the shop address on his phone. It’s fine, he’ll be fine. 

*

The shop assistant is very helpful, at first. ‘We have a range of styles and sizes,’ she tells him. ‘And you can mix and match too, if your girlfriend prefers one set of knickers and a different style of bra.’ 

She shows him several different sets, but they aren’t what he’s looking for; most of them are over elaborate with scratchy fabric, or they have so much lycra in them he’d never be comfortable. ‘Do you have anything else?’ he asks, already regretting coming in. She’s beginning to give him odd looks too, because he doesn’t know women’s sizing compared to men’s. Maybe he should have risked doing some research online before he came.

‘I don’t think we have what you’re looking for,’ she tells him firmly. ‘Perhaps you should try somewhere else.’ 

James tries desperately not to blush, but it’s a losing battle. He gives her a brief nod before hurrying out, and he can already imagine the whispers behind him. _It’s still fine,_ he assures himself, but it’s less convincing now. Maybe he should give up on this. 

But no, he made the decision, he wants this. He just has to find somewhere else. Soho seems like a better place to try, even if he was initially reluctant to try somewhere so… visible. 

*

The second place he tries doesn’t have what he wants either. The quality of the stock is better, if still a bit fussy, but there’s just nothing he thinks might fit him. He tries to do it without a sales assistant this time – tried the last time too, but she was too determined – but in the end one takes pity on him. ‘If you’re looking for what I think you’re looking for,’ she tells him quietly, fussing with a rack close by and not looking at him directly, ‘there’s a place that has more of a variety if you go left out of the shop and then down the third street over.’

‘Thanks,’ James mutters, and pushes his way out of the shop, again trying not to blush. Is he really that obvious?

The third shop is perfect. And it caters to men and women, so he has some plausible deniability if needed. 

Not that he should need it. It’s all fine.

He drives home full of anticipation, but he’s been in his flat less than five minutes when his phone rings. Dispatch. A body in Jericho. He glances in frustration at the discreet bag sitting innocuously on the couch. It’ll have to wait. He tucks it away in the bedroom, changes into work appropriate clothing and heads out again. 

In the end the bag sits there for nearly a week before he brings it out again. When he unpacks it the lingerie is just as pretty as it was in the shop, and a part of James unclenches. He wondered if it was a passing fancy, if he’s wasted more money than he expected to on a guilty thrill. But no. He runs his fingers over the material and shivers at the thought of putting it on. Will it be the same when Fiona’s not there to see it?

Turns out it’s better. And when his mind strays, in the minutes before orgasm, to Fiona’s words that last time and the thought of Lewis seeing him… that’s the best. 

James looks ruefully at his new lingerie, now heavily spotted with come. Looks like he’ll have to be more careful in the future. 

*

Lewis has joked a couple of times about James in women’s clothes. James is pretty sure he’s joking, anyway. There’s nothing to suggest otherwise, at least. But every time Lewis does, a part of James sits up and takes notice. _Was it something I said?_ Then of course James goes and puts his foot in it. 

‘Nice underwear,’ Lewis says, holding up a pair of crotchless knickers, belonging to the victim, in one gloved hand. ‘Wonder who she was wearing them for?’

‘And where she got the money,’ James adds, taking in the pile of similar items Lewis picked the pair up from. ‘Something like that would set you back about ninety quid.’ 

Lewis looks at the miniscule bit of fabric in surprise. ‘Ninety quid for this? Never.’ He stops, looks at James in surprise. ‘And how would you know what they cost?’ He raises his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Got something you want to tell me?’

Praying for divine assistance in this situation is almost certainly blasphemy. Never the less, James sends off a quick appeal before giving Lewis his best deadpan look. ‘You’ve found me out, sir. I secretly shop for women’s underwear on my days off.’

There is silence for a second, and James waits, waits for Lewis’s look of shock to fully form, waits for the perfect moment to let the slightest hint of a smirk slip onto his face. 

Lewis buys it. ‘Go on,’ he snorts, shaking his head in exasperation at what he perceives is James’s joke. ‘Suppose you read it somewhere.’ He then points a stern finger at James. ‘Don’t let Dr Hobson hear you, mind. She’s already got it in to her head you’re pinching knickers from clotheslines.’

Now it’s James’s turn to look shocked, while Lewis huffs out a laugh and turns back to the victim’s personal effects. 

Quietly, James sends a brief prayer of thanks that his thoughtless comment has passed unnoticed. 

*

He’s wearing one of his favourite combinations tonight; the lace boyshorts that cling so nicely, and the silky camisole with the matching lace edging. The camisole is white and thin and he’s idly wondered a time or two if he could get away with wearing the combination at work. It probably wouldn’t show under his suits, and it’s not as though anyone would be looking for it. Still, a contemplation for another day; right now, he’s settling in for a nice, leisurely bout of onanism. 

Or that was the plan, until someone begins thumping on the front door.

 _Fuck!_ James closes his eyes in annoyance. It’s probably just one of his neighbours, but his car’s outside. He can’t pretend he’s not in, and what if they want to speak to him in an official capacity?

He swings himself out of bed and quickly pulls on his rowing tracksuit, ducking into the bathroom to wash his hands and run cold water over his wrists. It’s a good thing he’d barely started and that the thought of his neighbours is enough to deflate any visible signs of arousal.

He opens the door and blinks. ‘Sir!’ Lewis is still dressed for work, and James wonders if he missed his mobile going off. ‘What an unexpected pleasure,’ he manages, in something close to his normal, lightly mocking tone. He stands back so Lewis can enter. 

Lewis stalks into the sitting room, and James guesses this isn’t a social call. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he offers. ‘I didn’t hear my phone.’

‘That’s cos I didn’t call it,’ Lewis tells him, and he’s not nearly so brusque as James would expect if James had somehow failed at his job. ‘Was in the station checking up with Cresswell’s lot’ - DI Cresswell is currently on paternity leave, James knows - ‘an’ a call came in about a break in. Matches the details of one of their cases, you know the one,’ he finishes, and James does know the one. He makes a point to know about any investigations Lewis is involved with or interested in, even if it’s not technically part of his job as Lewis’s sergeant. 

‘Yes sir,’ he confirms, and Lewis nods as if he expected nothing else. 

‘Scene’s out this way, so I thought I’d pick you up as I was passing.’

‘Surely Majewski knows the case better?’ James asks, though he’s quite willing to give up his supposedly free evening to go and look at SOCO looking at a crime scene, so long as Lewis is there too. Lewis grimaces. 

‘Majewski had a dodgy sandwich at lunch. Gone home with food poisoning.’ Now it’s James’s turn to grimace. Poor Majewski.

‘I’ll go and get dolled up then, sir,’ he says, and makes his way quickly to the bedroom. He pulls out a suit and shirt and is about to dig out underwear as well when he pauses. It’s late already and there’s not too much urgency to this scene. He’s likely to be back home within a few hours. Seems a shame to change. And he was thinking about wearing some of his pretty things to work…

Feeling nervous and daring, James quickly dresses in his suit and checks himself in the mirror. There’s nothing showing, but when he takes a deep breath, the shirt presses on the silk of his camisole, dragging it slightly against his nipples. He shivers, takes a slightly less deep breath, and opens the bedroom door.

Lewis is looking impatient. ‘Come on, James. Haven’t got all night.’

‘Yes sir,’ James replies, following as Lewis leads the way out of the flat.

*

_This was such a bad idea,_ James thinks, trying desperately to keep his attention on the crime scene. He’s so used to being aware of the silk and lace that he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s also used to being aware of Lewis, and the combination of the two things is more than he can manage; physical and emotional together dividing his attention until he has nothing left for his job. 

‘Hathaway!’ Lewis is beginning to get annoyed with his distraction, but even the stern sound of his voice can’t snap James out of it. It just sends a shiver down his spine, making him even more aware of the silk hidden beneath his shirt. He’s struggling not to get hard, and he’s afraid it’s a losing battle. 

‘Sir,’ he manages, and Lewis must hear the strain in his voice; beneath the annoyance is concern. _That doesn’t help!_ James thinks helplessly. A sign that Lewis cares; that’s worse – or better – than silk. 

‘Are you alright, James?’ Lewis asks, and James has to fight not to moan. 

‘Fine, sir,’ he replies as steadily as he can. Lewis looks at him disbelievingly but takes him at his word. 

‘Go an’ speak to SOCO, see when we can get out of here. Not much we can do til forensics runs their tests. We’ll come back to speak to the other businesses in the morning.’

‘Yes sir.’ James hurries off, praying SOCO will finish soon. 

‘SOCO say they’ll be another hour, sir,’ he reports back. Lewis sighs, and James bites the inside of his cheek. At the moment, everything Lewis does seems like foreplay. When James was crouched down earlier to look at where the door lock had been jimmied open, and Lewis stood over him…

 _Just another hour,_ he tells himself desperately and follows Lewis as he stalks back out into the alley where the door was forced. At least he didn’t wear the suspender belt and stockings he’d been considering. He wouldn’t have made it to the crime scene without making a mess. He pulls out his cigarettes as he walks and hopes the nicotine will help with the cravings. 

Unfortunately, nicotine is not a recognised substitute for Robbie Lewis.

‘You were off your game tonight,’ Lewis says an hour later as he drives back towards James’s flat. 

‘Sorry sir,’ James replies. It’s about all he can manage. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused. It feels like all his senses are heightened, and the scent of Lewis is filling the car to the point where James can’t draw breath with taking it in. He thinks he’s going mad. 

‘Get some sleep,’ Lewis advises kindly. ‘You’ll feel better tomorrow.’

‘Yes sir,’ James manages, though sleep is the last thing on his mind right now. He climbs out of the car on shaky legs, bids Lewis goodnight and nearly stumbles into his flat. 

_Unmitigated disaster_ is the conclusion of his experiment. He absolutely cannot wear anything to work that is not boring, plain cotton beneath his suit. 

He collapses onto his couch and breaths, battling his arousal back down to manageable levels. If he doesn’t he’s going to ruin the lace of his underwear before he’s even got a hand on himself. He makes himself drink a glass of water in the kitchen before he gives in and goes through to the bedroom, shedding his suit as he does. His hands are trembling as he’s left in just his pretty, pretty lingerie. 

He catches sight of himself in the mirror, and no wonder Lewis was concerned; he looks like he’s coming down with a fever, flushed skin and over-bright eyes. Inside the lace of his shorts his cock is fully hard. This is not going to last long. 

The sheets are cool beneath his overheated skin, and for a second James thinks about drawing it out, teasing slowly like he planned to earlier in the evening. In the end he realises there’s really no point – the slightest touch feels bruising, and he’s leaking through the lace, too excited to wait. 

As expected, his thoughts turn to Lewis, _Lewis in the car, Lewis looking at him in concern as James fumbles for coherence, Lewis standing over him..._

Oh yes. That’s what’s sticking in his head. Lewis, standing above him, in James’s bedroom this time, as James kneels, waiting to be told what to do.

 _That’s it, lad,_ the Robbie in his mind says. _Show me how much you want it. Making a mess of your pretty knickers, aren’t you? Just desperate. Touch yourself._

‘Yes,’ James gasps, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear.

 _You did so well tonight,_ Robbie tells him. _You wore your pretty knickers for me, an’ you looked so good. Loved seeing you so aroused, waiting for me. Faster now._

‘Yes, Robbie,’ James moans, speeding up. Distantly he wishes he’d had enough self control to get out the lube, do this properly, but he can’t wait, he’s nearly there. 

_Good lad,_ Robbie tells him, and James is close, so close. _That’s it, lad. Show me how good you’ve been. Come, James!_ And James does, gripping his cock tightly as his whole body jerks and bows, Robbie's voice urging him on as he strokes and teases, drawing out the last shivers of arousal until he’s approaching painfully oversensitive. 

_Good lad,_ Robbie says approvingly. _Get some sleep, now._

‘Mmm,’ James hums, abruptly worn out by the evening. He’ll just drowse for a few minutes, then he’ll get cleaned up…

His alarm wakes him, and despite the late night and the dried, itchy mess in his favourite pair of knickers, he feels amazingly well rested. 

Even so, he’s never wearing lingerie to work again.

*

The allure of pretty lingerie doesn’t fade over time. If anything, it becomes more enticing.

The allure of Robbie definitely increases. James admits – to himself only – that it wouldn’t be untrue to say he loves Robbie.

On nights when he knows he’s not going to be disturbed, when they’re near the bottom of the rota and he knows Robbie is busy, James likes to tease himself by getting changed the minute he gets home from work. He likes how it feels, sitting around the flat in his pretty underwear, making dinner and noodling on his guitar and drinking a glass of whiskey. Every move brushes the fabric against his skin, making it hypersensitive until he can’t take it any longer and he makes his way to the bedroom, lying down on the bed and touching himself slowly through the material. 

Some nights that’s enough, the ghost of fingertips and his imaginings. Other nights he’s restless, has spent the day in too-close proximity to Robbie – only Robbie when he’s alone in his flat. Then the imaginings become more fervent, touches firmer until he cracks and brings out the lube, presses fingers inside himself and buries his face in the pillows as he gasps _Robbie, Robbie._ Pretends he’s putting on a show, that he’s waiting for Robbie to arrive, that he’s doing as Robbie instructed him to – his imaginings depend on the day, on the mood.

When he comes, he comes to the thought of Robbie watching him, Robbie's fingers tracing the paths his own have taken, pressing through the silk, trailing down to push into his body. Robbie's voice, calling him lad, calling him pet, calling him love. Telling him how pretty he looks, how nice his outfit is, how good he’s been. How much Robbie wants him.

_Robbie._


	2. Chapter 2

James squelches into the flat, Robbie on his heels. ‘Right, man, into the shower with you,’ Robbie directs him. ‘Come on, quick as you like.’

‘Clothes,’ James protests through chattering teeth, and Robbie huffs. 

‘I’ll get them for you. Leave the door open. Come on, chop chop.’ James shuffles quickly off, stripping off his suit jacket and tie as he goes. He leaves everything in a heap on the bathroom floor; it’s not likely that suit can be salvaged, the amount of mud and water it’s been subjected to. He steps gladly beneath the shower spray, turning it up to nearly hotter than he can stand. It’s lovely to be warm again; the Cherwell in October is colder than is pleasant for an unexpected dip.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door and Robbie briefly drops a pile of clothes in before shutting the door again. James takes his time warming up before getting dressed and emerging into the sitting room. Robbie has made tea, and James grasps the mug gratefully. ‘Perfect, thank you, sir.’

Robbie nods stiffly. ‘Feeling better?’ His tone is oddly stiff too, and James looks at him in concern. 

‘Are you alright, sir?’

‘Fine,’ Robbie says briefly, and if James didn’t know better he’d think Robbie was feeling hurt. They drink their tea in not-quite-companionable silence. 

James breaks it. ‘Staying for dinner, sir? Not much point going back to the office now.’

Robbie hides his face in his mug. ‘Don’t want to get in the way of your plans,’ he mumbles, still sounding hurt. James looks at him in genuine perplexity. 

‘What plans, sir?’ When does he ever have plans that don’t involve Robbie? Half the time, even when James is going to band practise Robbie tags along so they can get fish and chips afterwards. He spends almost every evening with Robbie, and there’s no other way he’d have it. 

‘Your girlfriend,’ Robbie spits, and he definitely sounds hurt, James registers, even as he’s staring at Robbie in confusion. 

‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ he says eventually, and Robbie huffs. 

‘Don’t lie to me. I saw her clothes in the drawer. You don’t have to tell me everything, but I thought we were better mates than that.’ He’s definitely hurt, and oddly furious, but James is too frozen in horror to wonder why. He never even _considered_ when Robbie said he’d fetch James clothes. And after all the precautions he’s taken…

‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ he insists numbly, mind in a panicked turmoil, and Robbie snorts. 

‘Well, whatever you call her. Though if she’s leaving stuff here, I’d say you’re pretty close to having a girlfriend.’ He stops, takes a swallow of tea. ‘I thought we’d got past that Fiona McKendrick stuff.’

‘What?’ James snaps, horrified. Has he been this obvious the whole time? 

Now Robbie looks confused. ‘Fiona McKendrick. Y’know, that lass at the station you were seeing without telling me. I thought you’d have told me if you were going out with someone. Is it that Liv Nash, the horticulturalist?’

‘No,’ James says reflexively, his mind still in a whirl. Robbie didn’t mean what James expected, about Fiona. ‘I’m not seeing anyone,’ he insists again, and Robbie sighs. 

‘Fine, lad, have it your own way. I’ll go and fetch us dinner.’ He’s up and out of the flat before James can speak. When the door shuts behind him, James immediately stands and goes for the whiskey. He pours a glass and downs it in one. 

_Fuck._ What is he going to do? Robbie clearly believes James is hiding things from him. Would he even believe the truth? Could James risk telling him? But he looked so hurt. Which is the less terrible option?

When Robbie returns, James has made his decision.

Robbie sets the take out bags on the coffee table. ‘I got you a lamb pasanda,’ he tells James, still stiffly. ‘Unless that’s not your favourite any more?’ And James just can’t.

‘They’re mine,’ he tells Robbie, throwing away his half thought out plan to fake a girlfriend who he breaks up with before Robbie can meet her. 

‘What?’ Robbie asks, and James takes a fortifying swallow of the beer he’s opened. 

‘The stuff in the drawer. It belongs to me.’ Robbie still looks confused, and James realises he’s going to have to spell it out. ‘I wear it sometimes.’

‘You?’ Robbie looks so shocked, maybe it would have been better to go with his first plan.

‘Me,’ James agrees, taking refuge in the kitchen as he gathers plates and utensils.

‘Why?’ Robbie sounds lost, and now James heartily wishes he’d never said anything.

‘I like it,’ he tells Robbie, coming out of the kitchen. ‘It’s not that unusual.’

Robbie clearly swallows down whatever he was about to say, and James is grateful for that mercy. He’s not sure he could take condemnation or ridicule from Robbie at this moment. As it is, he’s probably miscalculated and ruined their friendship, not to mention any enjoyment he gets from the lingerie, the memory of Robbie’s confusion tainting it. 

‘Well,’ Robbie says eventually. ‘Suppose it’s not the oddest thing I’ve heard of.’

‘No,’ James agrees, thinking of some of the cases they’ve worked on. 

‘Not even the worst thing I know about some of me friends,’ Robbie adds, and James looks at him in surprise. ‘Locker room boasts,’ Robbie explains, and James nods in understanding.

Robbie takes a long drink of his beer, and James asks the most important question. ‘Is this going to make things awkward?’ It it is, he might resign in the morning. Not seeing Robbie every day has to be better than seeing that beloved face averted from him, hearing Robbie’s disapproval lurking behind every word.

‘No,’ Robbie tells him definitely, but he’s busied himself spooning out rice and tearing into the naan, and James can’t help but disbelieve him. Robbie looks over, offering the other half of the naan and catches James’s disbelieving look. ‘I promise, man,’ he says, ‘Look, if it helps, I’ll tell you something embarrassing about me, an’ then we’ll be even.’

‘Alright,’ James accepts, prompted by the devil on his shoulder and his insatiable curiosity about Robbie Lewis. And by treacherous hope. 

Robbie looks back to the containers, reaching for his vindaloo. James can see a flush beginning to climb Robbie's cheek, and now he’s really curious. ‘Go on then, sir,’ he prompts, and Robbie shakes his head. 

‘Think this is a conversation where you’d better be calling me Robbie,’ he tells James. 

‘Robbie, then,’ James repeats, and thrills a little at the guilty pleasure. Robbie's told him to use his name before, but James has to maintain distance somehow.

Robbie is definitely blushing now. ‘I have, in the past, been known to enjoy using me handcuffs in a manner not laid out in the regulation handbook.’

James is _very_ glad Robbie is currently too embarrassed to look at him. He has to bite his lip to stop a whimper escaping. Robbie Lewis, admitting to liking handcuffs? James can feel his cock twitching in his tracksuit bottoms. Thank God Robbie didn’t give him jeans; there’s no way he’d be able to hide in them. He desperately wants five minutes to absorb that, to pack away in his mind Robbie’s voice as he said those words, memorise them exactly so he can bring them out later. Maybe everything isn’t ruined. 

But he’s not going to get five minutes, and he wouldn’t be acting himself if he didn’t take the piss. ‘Keeping your tomato plants in line, that sort of thing?’ He’s proud of how innocent and steady he manages to keep his voice. 

‘No.’ Robbie glares at him. His face is bright scarlet. ‘Not that.’

‘Ah,’ James says, nodding wisely. ‘Rumpy-pumpy.’ Robbie glares at him harder. 

‘Aye. That.’ He turns back to the curry. ‘Think it’s a bit mean of you to poke fun. I never said a word.’ And he’s right. There’s been none of the mocking he expected if this ever came to light. 

‘I shall be the soul of discretion,’ he tells Robbie, who gives him a suspicious look. 

‘Why do I still feel you’re taking the piss?’

‘You do have a suspicious mind, Robbie,’ James says mournfully, before dropping it and reaching for the tv remote. ‘See what’s on?’ Robbie nods assent, and there’s silence as James flicks through the channels.

‘Wouldn’t have thought a nice theology student like you would be into that,’ Robbie comments a few minutes later, and James snorts in mingled amusement and desperate relief at the casual joke. 

‘You’ve no idea what theology students get up to on a Friday night,’ he replies. ‘This is mild by their standards.’

Robbie looks alarmed. ‘Don’t tell me then,’ he jokes, and James feels the knot of tension in his stomach unwinding. The truth is out, and it’s not immediately destroyed their friendship. 

It’s more than he hoped would happen. 

*

If he worried the morning might bring newly risen discomfort on Robbie's part, it’s swiftly put to rest. James arrives with the usual coffee for both of them and Robbie takes his with a word of thanks and a stack of expenses reports from Innocent. When lunchtime comes they eat at one of their usual cafes. In the afternoon they get a call about vandals at one of the university labs and spend their evening interviewing a bunch of physicists who are, apparently, violently opposed to the teaching of loop quantum gravity. James agrees wholeheartedly with Robbie when he begins grumbling about ‘Bloody Oxford bloody academics.’ 

They pick up Chinese to eat at Robbie's. James declares he’s cooking something healthy to eat tomorrow; Robbie promptly invites himself over. At no point is anything said about the night before. 

Robbie seems to think everything is normal, and James loves him even more for it. 

*

Friday night. Pizza eaten, four beers each, and Robbie keeps darting glances at him when he thinks James isn’t looking. James has noticed this over the last few days, and it’s beginning to get on his nerves. 

James tries to concentrate on the tv, but Robbie glances at him again, covertly, and James snaps. ‘What?’ It comes out more confrontational than he meant it too. 

Robbie looks shocked to have been caught, then shame-faced. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters, looking away and picking at the label of his beer.

‘No,’ James insists, sick of this. ‘There’s obviously something on your mind. What?’

Robbie looks awkward and begins pulling on his ear. ‘Keep thinking about what you said,’ he admits. ‘About you an’ your… hobby.’

James takes a gulp of his beer to counteract the sinking in his stomach. So things will be awkward after all. It’s silly to feel this disappointed; it’s what he expected, but after two weeks he’d really thought Robbie was fine with it, or at least willing to forget about it. 

‘I don’t wear them every day,’ he says, and it comes out harsher than he intended. He doesn’t really feel sorry about it, though. If this is to be the end of their friendship, he’s not letting go without -

‘Oh.’ The single word stops his thoughts dead, so full of disappointment as it is. _What? Why did Robbie sound like that? Does he…?_

James licks his lips. If he takes a chance, can he blame it on the alcohol? Or make it seem like he was being facetious if it blows up in his face? Should he risk it?

‘I can let you know, next time I’m going to put some on,’ he offers, getting ready to make it into a joke if Robbie -

‘Yes,’ Robbie blurts, then flushes scarlet. James’s heart gives two hard thumps. _God._ Robbie sounds like he likes the idea, likes it in the same way James likes it.

‘Robbie...’ James manages, and Robbie looks at him, miserable and defiant and brave, and James can’t help himself. 

Robbie’s lips are slightly chapped and taste of beer. He’s absolutely still against James, and for a heavy, endless moment James thinks he’s misread things - 

Something between them snaps, and James is borne backwards onto the couch under the weight of an amorous Robbie Lewis. Robbie is kissing him fiercely, nipping and sucking and James can’t move, can’t think, can’t do anything apart from kiss Robbie back. He’s gripping at Robbie's shoulders, Robbie is using his broad, broad hands to keep James’s head angled exactly as he wants it, and God, James has never got so hard so fast before. 

Robbie breaks away from James’s lips to place open, sucking kisses down his neck, and deliriously James hopes they leave marks. He wants proof, wants to look at them tomorrow and _know_ that Robbie wanted him, even just for one night. 

‘Robbie!’ James gasps, as Robbie’s mouth begins to suck at the hollow of James’s throat, hot and wet and possessive in a way that James has never imagined in all his fantasies. 

Robbie lifts his head at James’s gasp, and there’s something wild in his eyes James has never seen before. ‘Bonny lad,’ he says softly, voice at odds with his expression, and the combination is too much for James to resist. Before he can consider, he’s spreading his legs, manoeuvring around the awkward angle of their hips, and Robbie is getting with the program too, levering himself up so they’re both on the couch before James throws a leg over his calves, pulling him down so their lower bodies press firmly together. 

Immediately Robbie curses, and for a cold second James worries he’s done something to scare Robbie off, before all though leaves his head in a blazing rush as Robbie pushes his pelvis firmly against James’s, rutting their cocks together in a fast, filthy grind. 

‘Ah!’ James cries, and Robbie repeats the move again, with more deliberation. ‘Robbie, please!’ James begs mindlessly, and Robbie leans down to give him another of those wonderful biting kisses. 

‘Whatever you want,’ he promises, and James can hear the breathlessness underneath his words, a breathlessness that prompts James to push up into Robbie's next grind even as his hands begin to move over Robbie's back, slowly at first, heading ultimately for his arse. 

Robbie growls when James’s hands reach their destination. He’s kept up the steady thrust, circle, retreat until this point, but at the touch of James’s hand he stops and sits up, hands flying to the fastenings of his trousers before James can even register the change. 

Time slows to a crawl as James watches Robbie’s hands fumble with his fly. He waits in heart-thumping anticipation as Robbie pushes aside his suit trousers to show the prosaic blue cotton beneath, blue cotton distorted by a firm bulge that has James unconsciously licking his lips. 

Robbie sees the movement and chuckles roughly. ‘None of that, lad, not tonight.’

_Not tonight._ Implying there will be other nights like this, and what would have been disappointment becomes anticipation. ‘Another time,’ James murmurs, unaware of how husky his voice has become, all his attention focussed on Robbie’s movements, Robbie's hands and, when it finally springs free, Robbie’s cock.

_Ah!_ It’s perfect. Better than James imagined. Not the longest, but certainly thick enough that everything in James clenches in anticipation, and he desperately, _desperately_ wants to touch.

Robbie bats his hand firmly away when he reaches out. ‘Not yet,’ he tells James sternly, and James can’t stop his groan at Robbie's commanding tone. Robbie smiles, sitting back on his heels, one hand coming to loosely circle his cock, and James’s fingers twitch at the desire to do the same. But Robbie told him no, and so he will wait. 

‘Get yourself out,’ Robbie tells him, and it takes a second for James to comply, too caught up in the mesmerising sight of Robbie Lewis stroking himself, up and down, circling the head then teasing the root. This has starred in many of James’s fantasies. ‘I haven’t got all night,’ Robbie adds, a hint of warning in his voice, and that spurs James into action, hands shaking as he tugs at his own trousers.

Robbie looks disappointed when James pulls his fly apart. ‘You really aren’t wearing them,’ he remarks, and James has to stop and take a deep breath so as not to just come there and then. 

‘Next time,’ he promises, and Robbie nods in satisfaction. 

James keeps his fingers as light as possible as he pulls himself out; even that stimulation is difficult to bear. He’s so close, the sight of Robbie, flushed and lustful as he kneels above him the best aphrodisiac James could ever need. 

‘Good lad,’ Robbie praises, and James has to remove his hands entirely, grip the couch cushions and conjugate Latin verbs to stop himself from coming there and then. ‘You like that,’ Robbie realises, and the pleased, aroused note to his voice does absolutely nothing to help James. 

‘Robbie,’ James pleads, and Robbie's answering smile is tender and hot at the same time. 

‘Touch yourself,’ he tells James, and James shakes his head desperately. 

‘Can’t. I’ll come,’ he gasps, and Robbie grins. 

‘I’ll touch you then,’ he says, suiting action to words, and James grips the couch tighter and bites his lip harshly to stop himself orgasming at the first brush of Robbie's fingers. 

Robbie handles him gently, carefully, able to see how close James is already. His thumb flicks softly at the underside of James’s cock as his fingers tease all around, slowly dragging down and then up again. James is going to draw blood if he bites his lip any harder. He closes his eyes, trying to last a little longer. A second later he feels fingertips against his lip as Robbie gently tugs the abused flesh free, and this is too much; James can smell Robbie's pre-come on his fingers, taste the faintest trace of it when he flicks out his tongue, the faint flavour mixed with the salt-sweat of skin and the musk of sex and James is gone, coming in an instant, eyes flying open to take in the sight of Robbie in front of him before it’s too much and the pleasure sends him spinning out, waves crashing through him until he’s gasping, twitching, spasming in ecstasy, unable to breath or think or move.

He comes back to himself slowly, tremors shaking through him. He struggles to open his eyes – doesn’t know when he closed them – and Robbie is the first thing he sees, eyes wide, grunting rhythmically as he shoves into his hand, braced above James, gaze roaming until he meets James’s eyes, and James wants all over again, wants to touch, wants to kiss. His tongue darts out, chasing any trace of Robbie's flavour left on his lips, and apparently that’s it for Robbie, hand fisting tight as he slams his eyes shut, face stark with pleasure as he comes, and James revels in it even as he wishes he could see that expression as Robbie comes inside him. _Next time._

*

He’s going to have to burn this shirt, James thinks. Burn it or frame it. Maybe with a little plaque; _This was the shirt James Hathaway wore the first time he slept with Robert Lewis._ He stifles what would probably have been a giggle – he’s drunk on happiness, on the feel of Robbie collapsed next to him on the couch. He can’t believe that they’re both still dressed. He didn’t get to see Robbie’s chest, touch his skin. _Next time._

Beside him, Robbie stirs. ‘Christ, man. Don’t think I’ve come that hard for years.’

‘Don’t think I’ve come that hard ever,’ James admits, and Robbie turns to look at him, pleased and proud, and James risks leaning over to kiss him. 

Robbie reciprocates, enthusiastic if languid. He pulls away smiling, then grimaces suddenly. ‘Don’t think me back likes this position.’

‘We could move to the bed,’ James suggests, feeling hot and cold at his daring. He knows Robbie enjoyed himself and there have been suggestions of a repeat performance, but he doesn’t actually know what Robbie wants from this. 

‘Good plan,’ Robbie says, fond and approving as he pushes himself up, and James takes a second to close his eyes and breath at how perfect this is. ‘Come on,’ Robbie calls, and James swings himself upright to follow Robbie, flighting a losing battle against the silly grin stretching his mouth.

*

James wakes slowly, reluctant to let go of his dream. _Robbie, on the couch. Kissing. Coming._ More vivid than usual. He lies still, loath to disperse the trailing ends of the dream.  
Behind him, someone shifts and sighs, and James’s eyes snap open, reality flooding back in a second. _Not a dream._

Robbie has apparently been awake for some time, clear-eyed and alert when James rolls over to look at him. ‘Morning, bonny lad,’ Robbie says, dropping a kiss on his cheek. James can’t say anything for a moment, stunned by happiness. 

‘Been thinking about last night,’ Robbie continues, and James feels something apprehensive uncurl in his chest. ‘Been thinking about your… hobby.’

_Well._ That puts a different spin on things.

‘It’s a kink, not a hobby,’ James corrects him, and Robbie gives him a disgruntled look. 

‘Whatever it is, I’ve been thinking about it. Been thinking about it a lot, the last two weeks.’

‘Mmm,’ James hums in reply. ‘I’ve been thinking about you and handcuffs.’ The thought sends a shiver through him once again, and Robbie looks intrigued. 

‘You’d be into that?’ James’s look reveals just how into that he is. ‘Anyroad,’ Robbie continues, eyes a little darker, ‘can you tell me a bit about it? I want to understand.’ And he’s so earnest James can't refuse. 

Robbie isn’t very impressed when James tells him how it started. ‘Can’t say I’m feeling much fondness for DI McKendrick,’ he grumbles, and James leans over to kiss him. 

‘I think it’s DCI McKendrick now,’ he comments, and gets an unimpressed look for his troubles. The look sends his heart spinning; this is better than anything he’d imagined. This is real. 

He tells Robbie about exploring the world of lingerie on his own, how it makes him feel. ‘It’s not about feeling female, for me,’ he explains. ‘I just like feeling… attractive. I like how it feels when I’m wearing it. It’s delicate and pretty and sexy, and it feels so nice against my skin. Everything feels sensitive,’ he says, almost whispers, and realises he’s drifted off into remembered sensations only when movement beside him brings him back to where he is currently. In Robbie's bed. With Robbie. Really, how could he forget?

‘I’d like to see that,’ Robbie tells him, and by the hoarse note to his voice, James’s reminiscences have affected him too. 

‘Next time,’ James reminds him, and Robbie looks suddenly uncertain.

‘I know we both said some things last night,’ he begins, and for the first time since James kissed him he looks tentative. ‘But what do you actually want?’

James has a strong feeling he knows what Robbie's hoping for, suspects it matches his own wishes, but there’s still a thread of fear in him. What if Robbie just wants something casual?

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained._ James takes a deep breath. ‘I want you,’ he begins quietly. ‘I want us. I want evenings in the pub and nights on the couch with takeaway and beer. I want allotment Sundays and cooking together and working together. I want to kiss you, make love with you and sleep with you. I want to talk to you about everything and nothing, and have you call me a smart-arse and a cheeky sod. I want to read a book while you watch cricket, I want to listen to you talk about your family and pretend to listen when you talk about rugby. I want anything you’ll give me,’ he states, heart beating harder, ‘because I love you, Robbie Lewis.’

‘Canny lad,’ Robbie says, and he’s smiling, smiling so hard James can’t help but smile too, fear melting away. ‘I want that too. Want you an’ everything that comes with you,’ he says, ‘’cos I love you too. Loved you for a long time.’ 

And James has to bury his head in the crook of Robbie's neck and breath. 

*

They eventually make it out of bed, and James plans to cook breakfast for them both until Robbie stops him. ‘Don’t have anything in the house other than bread an’ milk.’

‘Coffee and toast, then,’ James adjust, undaunted. Robbie nods. 

‘Need to go shopping today. Especially if there’s going to be two of us.’ He gives James a look that’s bordering on wondering, like he can’t believe this has happened, and James takes advantage of his newly granted kissing privileges to help both of them believe a little more. When they pull apart, James has to focus carefully on breakfast so as not to drag Robbie back to bed. Good _God,_ Robbie can kiss. 

Over the breakfast table Robbie begins shooting him little glances again, and James has to stop himself shivering at these looks – they are sly, hot looks, like Robbie is making plans. James is very interested in those plans. 

It’s Robbie who starts this time, gently clearing his throat. ‘Been thinking,’ he says, and James thrills at the rumble in his voice. ‘About what you said. ‘Next time.’’

James gives him an innocent look even as he sets down his butter knife in expectation. ‘What about next time?’

‘We need to get some food in,’ Robbie says calmly, and James warms a little at the casual ‘we’ even as he wonders where this is going. ‘And I was thinking about going to that place on the river you like for lunch, maybe walk a bit first. An’ if you’re staying the weekend,’ he gives James a questioning look, and James agrees emphatically, ‘you’ll need some bits an’ pieces, so we’ll need to go by your flat.’

‘Yes,’ James concurs. He wants his guitar, and at the very least he’ll need a fresh shirt. They’re on call this weekend, he can’t show up at a crime scene in one of Robbie's work shirts. 

Robbie nods agreeably. ‘So I thought we could drop by your place an’ you can choose something to wear for lunch an’ shopping, an’ then we can come back here and see what we fancy doing,’ he finishes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

‘Something to wear?’ James asks, swallowing. He knows where this is going.

Robbie nods firmly, heat in his eyes. ‘Something pretty,’ he says, and James feels lust roll unstoppably through him. 

*

Robbie wants to know what James has chosen. He’s waiting in the living room whilst James makes his selection. He feels reckless, alight with happiness and uncaring of consequences, so he’s ignoring what he learned when he wore lingerie in Robbie's presence before and going all out this time. 

He’s chosen blue today, to match Robbie's eyes, and doesn’t he feel like a fool as he makes the selection. But still, he thinks as he slips on the camisole, the short one with the inset lace V that dips between his pectorals while the hem flirts with the top of his waist, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The pants matches the camisole perfectly, silk and lace side by side, and the suspender belt is more a brief froth of lace over his hips than a functional garment. The belt and accompanying sheer stocking are probably unnecessary, since he’ll be wearing jeans rather than lounging about the house, but he wants Robbie to see the full outfit. _Something pretty._

He takes a breath, gives himself a last once over in the mirror before heading for the living room where Robbie waits. 

Robbie is standing by the window, attention fixed on something outside, but he turns immediately when James steps into the room. There is a drawn out second when Robbie doesn’t say anything and James can’t read his expression, and a chill starts in James. Robbie is only the second person who’s seen him like this. What if he looks ridiculous?

Then Robbie swallows, eyes raking James from head to toe, and even before his hoarse utterance - ‘ _James..._ ’ - James knows Robbie likes what he sees. He tries not to blush, but it’s a losing game. 

‘Pretty enough?’ he asks, and Robbie groans approvingly. 

‘Perfect,’ he replies, and James finds the courage to walk into the room and across to Robbie. Robbie meets him half way, reaching out to touch before he’s within arms reach. His fingers tug at the camisole, pulling it taught, and James holds himself still against a shiver at this small sensation. ‘You look amazing,’ Robbie tells him, and James can hear the utter honesty in his voice.

‘Thank you,’ James murmurs, preening a little inside. ‘What do you think of the back?’ he asks, cheeky and daring, turning so Robbie can see the rest of his outfit, and the lace panel that makes up the back of the knickers. Robbie's sudden intake of breath is the answer he hoped for; the fingertip that brushes against him is a bonus. 

‘Christ, lad.’ Robbie’s tone is gruff. ‘Not sure I’ll make it back to me flat, knowing you’re wearing that.’

‘Nor am I,’ James admits. He’s already halfway to hard, and there’s no sign things are going to change any time soon. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Robbie – not that Robbie notices, gaze set firmly on James’s arse. ‘We don’t have to go...’ he suggests, anticipating. He’s had many thoughts of Robbie in his bed. 

Robbie looks up at this, gaze firm even as his pupils are dilated with arousal. ‘No,’ he tells James firmly, and his face breaks into a smile James would classify as wicked. ‘Does you good to wait.’

‘Are you sure?’ James queries under his breath, but Robbie hears him. He turns James gently, pulling his down for a kiss. 

‘Go an’ get dressed,’ he says softly, kissing him again. ‘Sooner we go, sooner we can get back.’   
James nods, outwardly reluctant but thrilling inside, and knows that Robbie knows. At least this time he won’t have to hide his reactions from Robbie.

*

‘Have you ever tried heels?’ Robbie asks, and James nearly inhales his sandwich. ‘There’s no one about,’ Robbie adds casually, cutting another bite off his pie as though he’s just asked James if he’s ever been bowling. 

James checks surreptitiously and Robbie is right, their particular corner of the beer garden is deserted, the weather too cool for most people to want to sit outside. James had assumed when Robbie ushered him outside it was so James could smoke, but apparently Robbie has other plans. 

‘Yes,’ he admits when he’s sure there’s no one to overhear. ‘With Fiona.’

Robbie's lips tighten, and James wonders what he has against Fiona. He seemed to like her well enough when they worked together. 

‘And?’ Robbie asks, glancing up from hiss pie.

‘And I’m too tall and can’t keep my balance,’ James tells him. ‘Head wounds and turned ankles are not sexy to me.’

‘Me neither.’ Robbie nods decisively, and apparently the question of heels is laid to rest. James feels it safe to return to his sandwich, which was apparently a mistake. 

‘Who else has seen your… you know.’ Robbie asks, making a gesture with his head that is apparently supposed to indicate _sexy underwear._ James puts down his sandwich without choking this time, and wonders if Robbie is doing this on purpose. He could avoid the question, would like to do so, but that’s not the way to begin a new relationship.

‘Only two people have,’ he admits, and waits for Robbie to work it out. 

‘Wait… d’you mean that just Fiona an’...’ Robbie looks amazed and also a little awed, and James finds the courage to admit the rest. 

‘None of my other’ - _very infrequent, very short lived_ \- ‘relationships reached that point.’

Robbie looks back to his food, but there’s a certain smugness to him that James can see. ‘You like that,’ he realises, and Robbie looks a little embarrassed. But not too much.

‘Yeah,’ he admits, giving James the kind of look that makes him aware of everything he has on beneath his clothes. ‘Like being the only one who gets to know.’ He looks away, and James takes a moment to recover. ‘Was jealous when I thought you had a girlfriend,’ Robbie adds. ‘Thought I’d missed me chance.’

James doesn’t say what he’s thinking - _I would have left them for you._ He’s not sure how Robbie would take that, or even how he feels about it himself. It’s not a particularly nice sentiment, but it’s the honest truth. James would have done almost anything to have Robbie.

Turns out all he had to do was be himself. How sickeningly, wonderfully cliched. 

James stretches out a leg and presses it carefully against Robbie's. ‘No need for that now,’ he says quietly, and Robbie smiles, and presses his leg back against James’s.

‘No,’ he says, and the satisfied possession in his voice is as good as all the silky and lacy things James has at home. 

‘Have you done anything like this before?’ James asks, a few minutes later. ‘With a man?’ he clarifies. Robbie shrugs. 

‘Not really. Had a few girlfriends before Val, an’ I had a mate back in school. We used to give each other a hand, like, on occasion. Told ourselves it wasn’t gay if we were just having a laugh.’ There’s a mixture of nostalgia and amusement on his face, and James wants to ask more, wants to ask what happened to the mate, but this doesn’t feel like the time. 

‘So no recent experience?’ he questions, and Robbie shoots him a devilish look. 

‘Last night not recent enough for you?’ James rolls his eyes. 

‘I’m just trying to get an idea of your current level of applied knowledge,’ he replies, in his best ‘respectful bagman’ tone. Now Robbie rolls his eyes. 

‘I’ve been doing me research,’ he protests, and at James’s raised eyebrows, looks away, blushing. ‘Been looking online, haven’t I?’

‘Video based learning, very important,’ James says approvingly, and Robbie glares. 

‘Not just… porn,’ he says, voice dipping low on the last word as he checks they’re still alone out here. ‘Been reading about bisexuality, an’ looked at a few online resources. I’m not completely new to this.’

‘But porn was also involved?’ James asks, tongue in cheek, and Robbie sighs. 

‘There may have been a certain amount,’ he admits grudgingly. He looks down at his food again, a flush to his cheeks. ‘Weren’t a patch on last night, though,’ he adds, and James catches his breath at the half-shy admission.

‘Couldn’t agree more.’

*

By the time they make it back to Robbie's flat James is a mess. The cling of his stockings as he walks; the feel of lace rubbing against his hip as Robbie pushes past, a wicked look in his eyes; the crush of silk in Robbie's fist when he grabbed James’s shirt and pulled him across the car for a deep, filthy kiss; he’s not sure how he made it round the supermarket without embarrassing himself. 

Robbie has to carry the bags in from the car; James is too distracted to remember them. He stands in the sitting room as Robbie puts the food away, taking deep breaths and trying not to shake out of his skin. The anticipation is destroying him. 

He jumps as Robbie comes up behind him, pulling James back to lean against him. ‘Alright, love?’ Robbie asks, dropping a kiss on the side of James’s neck, and James twitches at the contact. 

‘Please,’ he manages. ‘Robbie, I need...’ He can’t finish the thought, too many desires colliding inside him. 

Robbie drops another kiss onto his neck, and this time James can feel the press of Robbie's cock against him as he leans back. ‘Into the bedroom, bonny lad,’ he murmurs, and James walks there on legs that threaten to collapse with every step. 

‘Get your kit off,’ Robbie tells him kindly, and James fumbles with the hem of his shirt, trying to separate it from the fabric beneath. Robbie makes no move to assist, watching him from the doorway. He looks like he’s trying to appear nonchalant, but there’s a tension to him that James feels resonating in himself. Both of them are on edge.

It takes James longer than he likes to get down to his underwear. Robbie is still fully dressed, and James gives him a questioning look. Robbie has apparently been lost in thought; he comes back with a start. ‘On the bed,’ he says, but James holds his ground. 

‘I want to see you,’ he tells Robbie, and Robbie huffs but steps into the room, tugging on his rugby shirt. 

‘It’s not a pretty sight,’ he says, a hint of contrite warning in his tone. James isn’t having any of that. Two strides takes him across to Robbie, and James covers Robbie's hands with his own. 

‘I have imagined this so many times,’ he tells Robbie sincerely. ‘I’ve spent night after night thinking about you, about what I’d like to do with you. Do you want me to tell you?’ he asks, murmurs, voice as low and intimate as he can make it. He hears Robbie's breathing speed up, the two of them drawing closer as though magnetised. He watches as Robbie's eyes flick over his face, testing the sincerity of his words, and feels the rush of satisfaction as belief takes over Robbie's face.

Deliberately, Robbie disentangles their hands and steps back, pulling the shirt over his head. James watches with mounting pleasure. Yes, Robbie is not the media’s masculine ideal, but James doesn’t care about that. Robbie is himself; a little careworn, carrying a few extra pounds, hair beginning to go grey. He’s also quite possibly the sexiest man James has ever seen; confident and authoritative, caring and kind, wearing his skin comfortably, content with who he is.

‘Perfect,’ James tells him, and means it completely. Robbie, watching him carefully, straightens a little at James’s honest appreciation.

‘Daft lad,’ he says, but fondly, and then they are both smiling at each other, both a little daft. 

‘On the bed, was it?’ James asks lightly, walking backwards as he does, and Robbie follows him, not letting more than two feet get between them until James backs into the bed and sits down with a thump. Here, he’s more or less perfectly positioned for access to Robbie's jeans. 

‘May I?’ he asks, hands already raised, and Robbie nods, watching him with renewed hunger. James’s hands are steady as he separates the fabric – the short insecurity break has given them both a little time to calm down, much needed on James’s part. 

Robbie is wearing boxers similar to yesterday’s, just a slightly different shade of blue. James looks up at him teasingly. ‘Maybe we should get you a few pairs of lacy underthings too,’ he suggests, and Robbie snorts in amusement. 

‘I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t mind getting some things for you, like.’

James shivers at the thought. Robbie, picking out things for him to wear… ‘Please do,’ he murmurs, and forestalls Robbie's reply by sliding his hands into Robbie's boxers. 

Robbie's a little more than half hard as James draws him out, and the feel of him lengthening and thickening in James’s hands is powerfully erotic. James strokes him lightly until Robbie steps back. 

‘Give me a minute,’ he tells James, reaching down to take off his socks before sliding down his jeans and boxers. ‘And you were supposed to be getting on the bed,’ he adds with a stern look.

Breath quickening, James complies, pulling aside the duvet to settle himself on the sheets. Fully undressed and almost fully hard, Robbie watches him, and James has to stop himself squirming at the appraising looks he’s being given.

‘Bloody hell,’ Robbie sighs at last. ‘How did I get so lucky?’ James shakes his head. 

‘I’m the lucky one,’ he tells Robbie, who looks at him fondly. 

‘Daft as a brush. Look at you, all laid out in your pretty knickers.’ There’s far more heat than fondness in the second part of Robbie's words, and James can feel his cock growing harder again, pressing against the silk front of his underwear. Robbie clearly sees the movement, and he smiles with predatory intent. ‘You’ve been thinking about what you’d like to do?’ he asks, and James nods fervently. ‘Tell me,’ Robbie commands.

It takes a moment for James to find his voice. ‘Thought about you touching me,’ he begins, and Robbie nods in encouragement. ‘Imagined you standing above me,’ James continues, delving back into his favourite fantasies. ‘Telling me what to do, how to touch myself.’ Robbie’s cock jerks at that, and James smiles at the sight. ‘Thought about you in my mouth,’ he adds. ‘Sucking you and teasing you until you hold me in place and take what you want.’ That one is very much a favourite of his, and by the involuntary step forward, James would say Robbie agrees. 

‘Imagined you keeping me on edge until I’m desperate for you,’ he says, and this is his favourite of all. ‘Making me wait for you, teasing me through the silk until I’m making a mess, but you make me wait until I’m begging before you tell me to take off my knickers. I’m still wearing everything else when you open me up and fuck me.’ He’s gasping by the end, hips rubbing against the bed so he can feel the lace. Every breath he takes presses his nipples against the silk of his camisole, and the sensation is almost painfully good. Above him, still standing beside the bed, Robbie is fully hard.

‘We’ll definitely be doing that,’ he says, and James has never heard him sound so rough. ‘But I’ve not got the patience for that right now.’

James doesn’t think he does either. His earlier arousal is back in full force, and he feels like he’s been waiting for hours. He has been waiting for hours, really. ‘Touch me, please,’ he begs, and at last Robbie joins him on the bed.

In a reprise of the night before Robbie comes to kneel above James, legs on either side of his thighs, and even the slightest hint of immobility reminds him that Robbie favours handcuffs and that one day he’ll use them on James. The thought is incredibly heady. 

Robbie leans down for a kiss, and James throws himself wholeheartedly into the contact, clinging when Robbie pulls away, trying to follow. Robbie takes pity, kisses him again, and James could happily pass an hour or more like this, kissing Robbie in his bed. But Robbie has other plans and eventually he pulls away despite James’s protests. ‘Want to touch you,’ he says, and James subsides onto the bed in anticipation.

Robbie starts out simply, tracing the lace along the top of James’s stockings, back and forth, sensitising the skin until James can feel the ghost of his touch marking him like a bruise. ‘Love how you look,’ Robbie tells him. ‘Seeing your beautiful skin through the lace.’ Robbie follows the line of the suspenders up, bypassing James’s groin completely despite James’s words of protest. He tuts at James. ‘Patience. I’m enjoying meself.’ James is very much enjoying this too.

He teases at the hollow of James’s waist, fingers running over silk and skin interchangeably. Robbie’s fingers over skin and Robbie's fingers over silk; the difference between the two is subtle but distinct, and James is beginning to relax into it when Robbie suddenly abandons his waist in favour of his nipples. ‘How does it feel?’ he asks James, tugging the camisole this way and that so first silk then lace drags over the nub. 

James jerks at the first brush, the silk doing little to disguise the feel of Robbie's fingers. He can’t form complete words, but Robbie doesn’t seem to mind. The second pass is firmer and James groans, prompting Robbie to do it again. He keeps it up for a bit longer, then switches to just the silk, changing randomly between flicking and circling over the nubs until James marshals his scattered thoughts to pant ‘Thought you didn’t have the patience to tease?’

‘Changed me mind, didn’t I?’ Robbie smirks, and James thinks that the expression shouldn’t be so hot. 

‘Two can play at that game,’ James tells him, and begins to move his hands from where they’ve been resting on Robbie's thighs, travelling up his legs towards his groin. Robbie lets him, still rubbing gently through the silk as James finally fulfils his long held desire to take Robbie's hard cock in hand. 

‘Christ, James,’ Robbie gasps at the first clasp, and James splits his attention between memorising the precise weight and feel of Robbie's cock and etching his expression into his mind. He gets lost in exploration for long minutes, tracing the veins, tugging lightly at the foreskin, reaching down to take Robbie's balls in hand, rolling and weighing gently until with a curse Robbie pulls his hands away. James has lost track of time, has no idea how long he’s been teasing Robbie, but Robbie looks wild with lust now. ‘Hands of the devil,’ he growls, pressing James’s hands up beside his head. ‘Keep them there,’ he warns roughly

James lets out a short _ah!_ at the pressure. ‘Please, Robbie,’ he groans. ‘I need you.’

‘You have me,’ Robbie assures him, voice rough despite the soft words. ‘What do you need?’

_Everything!_ But specifically, right now James needs to feel Robbie inside him. He’s waited too long, far too long to put it off unless absolutely necessary. 

‘Will you fuck me?’ he asks, as carefully as he can manage. If Robbie’s not ready…

The look he receives in response to his request, however, suggests Robbie is very much ready. ‘Give me a second,’ Robbie says, and climbs off the bed to rummage in the nightstand, coming back with lube and a condom. James takes the opportunity to unsnap the suspenders and take off his knickers, noting a darker blue wet spot where Robbie’s teasing has caused James to leak. Robbie gives him a disappointed look when he sees the knickers gone. ‘Wanted to do that meself.’

‘Next time,’ James promises, and Robbie nods in satisfaction. ‘How do you want to do this?’ James asks. 

‘On your back. Want to see you,’ Robbie tells him firmly. ‘You look so good like that. Want to see you make a mess of your nice undies.’ He climbs back onto the bed and James spreads his legs, raising his knees so Robbie has easier access. His heart is beating harder from Robbie's words; at some point, he’ll tell Robbie how much he likes it when Robbie says things like that. One more for next time. Or maybe the time after that. They’ll have plenty of opportunities.   
The first touch of Robbie's fingers, lube cool against James’s intimate skin, sends a shiver through James. Robbie begins slowly, circling with one finger, teasing and retreating before dipping in, just a little. James does this to himself semi-regularly, though he appreciates Robbie's care; he could never quite bring himself to buy a dildo, and it’s been a while since he did this with anyone else. On top of that, Robbie's fingers are most definitely thicker than James’s; a tantalising precursor to his cock. 

Robbie works his way up to the full length of his first finger, and James grips the sheets to stop himself pushing for more before he’s ready. Robbie is watching him carefully and James wishes there were an easy way for them to kiss in this position, but the exaggerated height difference makes it awkward. He voices this to Robbie, who looks considering for a moment before withdrawing his finger against James’s protests. Robbie ignores it, shuffling up the bed to gather together the pillows. ‘Here,’ he directs James. ‘Put these behind you, prop yourself up.’

The new angle means James can reach Robbie without too much difficulty, and preparations stall for a few minutes as they get lost in kissing. But as James observed before, Robbie really is an excellent kisser, and before long James needs more, pulling back to ask for another finger. 

Two fingers, and Robbie sits back on his heels, observing James spread out before him. He clearly likes what he sees; his cock is bobbing and leaking, and frankly James needs it in him sooner rather than later. Robbie gives him an indulgent look. ‘Little bit more, love.’ So saying, he lubes up a third finger, and James moans at the increased stretch. 

‘God, Robbie!’ It’s so good, everything he’s wanted right in front of him, and Robbie clearly likes the sight of him in silk and lace. His eyes keep returning to the V of the camisole, then tracing down to where the suspender belt still circles James’s hips. 

‘What are you thinking?’ James asks, trying to distract himself from the exceptional feel of Robbie stretching him open. Robbie licks his lips. 

‘Thinking about what you said, about using your mouth. Was thinking it might be fun to get you dolled up some time and see if I can use me mouth to get you to come in your knickers.’ James whimpers at the thought, and Robbie grins wickedly. ‘Like that, do you? Was also thinking about using me handcuffs to keep you in line while I take me time, see what you like best. Then I’ll leave you in just your stockings an’ suspenders while I get meself ready, and see how long you last when you’re inside me.’

_Oh God!_ James can see that in his head, and it’s too much right now, he can’t wait any more. ‘Robbie! Now, please, fuck me!’

The first, careful push of Robbie's cock is an easy slide, as open as James is from his fingers. James sinks back onto the bed, all his concentration on the inch or so Robbie has penetrated. The second push goes deeper, where Robbie's fingers couldn’t quite reach, and the slight burn is good, very good. The third push is slower, and James is gasping now, the stretch more noticeable, and he was so right about how thick Robbie's cock is, how much of a challenge it is to take. When Robbie is fully seated James has to ask him to wait, though Robbie isn’t moving, is carefully watching James to see when he’s ready. James closes his eyes and concentrates on relaxing, opening to receive Robbie with ease and pleasure. When he reaches that point and opens his eyes again, the first thing his sees is Robbie's beloved face, watching him carefully despite the apparent strain of not thrusting. James leans forwards, just far enough to reach Robbie's lips. ‘Ready,’ he whispers, kissing then kissing again, and Robbie begins with the smallest movement he can, a tiny retreat and thrust, just enough to test. James tightens a little at the feeling, revelling in the reality of Robbie in his arms, in his body. The next thrust is longer, then again, until James is clinging to Robbie, arms and legs wrapped round him as Robbie fucks him so carefully. 

‘More,’ he gasps eventually, and Robbie looks at him carefully. ‘I can take it,’ James assures him. ‘Love this. Love the feel,’ and Robbie's pace is beginning to pick up, skin slapping as James gasps and sighs. It’s amazing, being one with Robbie in this way, and James tightens his muscles helplessly, trying to get Robbie closer. He feels spread and pinned, owned by Robbie's thick cock and strong fingers, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

Robbie obviously enjoys this. ‘God, James!’ His pace picks up again, the angle of his hips shifting and James yelps at the first direct strike on his prostate. Robbie correctly interprets it as a good sound, angling again to strike the same place, and now the thrust and retreat between them takes on a new urgency. James has been wound up for so long, he’s not sure how much more he can take. Above him, against him, Robbie is gasping every time he reaches the hilt, and James loves the look of concentrated pleasure on his face, how much Robbie is enjoying his body.

It’s close to being too much now, as though James might fly apart at any second. ‘Robbie, close!’ he manages, and Robbie pulls back enough to get a hand on James’s cock, short, quick strokes in time with his thrusts. 

‘James!’ Robbie moans, and his hips speed up for a few thrusts before he’s coming, he’s coming inside James, he made Robbie come, and that thought is enough to send him over the edge too.

*

Everything in James aches, and it’s the best feeling in the world. He can feel each individual muscle, each inch of skin, and it’s all imprinted with Robbie's touch. Across him, felled by pleasure, Robbie’s breathing is slowly returning to normal. James drops a kiss on Robbie's bicep, the closest part of him, and basks in the feeling of being so well used. 

Eventually Robbie stirs, rolling off James to land beside him. ‘Good God, man,’ he manages. 

‘Yes,’ James agrees blissfully. 

Robbie props himself up to survey the wreckage of James’s body. ‘You’ll have bruises,’ he points out, apologetic. James lifts his head enough to see several red spots already shading dark on his waist and on his hip, places where Robbie held him too tightly. 

‘Yes,’ he agrees again, even more blissful, and Robbie gives him a look that James can only categorise as ‘loving.’

‘You’re a strange man, James Hathaway,’ he says fondly, and lies down again, close enough that James can reach his mouth. James takes advantage, sighing happily at the gentle caress of lips. 

‘And I’m all for you,’ he promises quietly. Robbie doesn’t reply, but the arm that pulls him close and the lips that kiss him so perfectly give the answer instead.


End file.
